


winter blues

by vaultboii



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, Good Ol' Shit, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 18:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14291121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultboii/pseuds/vaultboii
Summary: “Is it always this horrendously cold?”winter didn't work so well with flowers.





	winter blues

**Author's Note:**

> you know, let's pretend cagney doesn't have thorns attached to his body.
> 
> written for a pal on discord.

“It’s  _ freezing, _ ” hissed the plant in livid fascination at the blanket of white only a few feet outside the door. The window he was looking through was frosted at the edges; wrapped around you, the plant shuddered at some mental image and crept closer. “Is it always this  _ horrendously  _ cold?”

His petals slipped up on your cheek, and tickled skin as the flower ducked a bit closer, and rubbed against you softly as if to steal warmth from you. Leaves tickled, and poked at your stomach; the green of a few spare vines lazily rubbed at your back, and touched ticklish areas in your body. Cagney leaned down, and pressed one spare kiss to your forehead as he readjusted around you.

“It’s winter,” and that should be obvious, even as Cagney rolled his eyes and snuggled a bit more around you. The blizzard raged onwards. “You were the one who moved in.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” and the sass was visible in his voice, even as his petals tucked in a little more and he shifted again for more accessibility to your body. You reached up, and ran a finger across his nose; at that gesture, a blush had bloomed over that carnation’s face, and suddenly the ceiling became much more interesting to him. However, his eyes protested a  _ bit _ when your hand ducked down to rub at closer petals. “Let me just freeze outside, huh? That sounds like fun. I love the feeling of snow rotting away my stem.”

“Oh, stop complaining.” A kiss from you was pressed against the lowest petal. 

You could feel the shudder rumble through Cangey, and the flower tried to cover it up with a snort. “Oh, would  _ I  _ complain?” He asked, and before letting you answer, cheated and covered your mouth with his. 

It took a while to separate, and when you did, Cagney wasn’t the only one blushing. Somehow, he had managed to tug you to the floor with him; however, the cheeky flower had brought some cushions with him, and now he set you on them. Positions were swapped and adjusted to the difference in your berths; you pressed a hand against his stalk and began to melt into him. 

“You’re lucky I let you move in,” and you brought your hand up to boop his nose again - that blush grew stronger, and more pronounced upon the flower’s cheeks. “I could’ve let you freeze.”  _ Not that you would’ve let him freeze, of course.  _ You both knew that was a bluff, and a lousy one at that. That didn’t stop you from marching onwards with the white lie. “I would’ve.”

“Of course, my  _ darling. _ ” His voice was a purr. “That’s my soft-hearted  _ honey _ .” 

And another kiss was pressed to your forehead as that voice murmured contently. A vine curled happily around your middle, and you rested your head against his stalk. Seconds ticked by, and then minutes; Cagney curled a little more fondly around you, and listened intently to every rise and fall of your chest.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable, love?” The flower asked at last, as half an hour found you still against his stalk, eyes half-lidded to the music of wind whistling over the house. “I do so love the attention you’re givin’ me, but you _softies_ need a soft bed to sleep on, not this,” a gesture to the polished floor, “dead-tree floor.”

“Hardwood.”

“Whatever.” Cagney rustled a leaf down your spine, and relished your reaction. “The bed would be much better for your back.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said drowsily.

And that smirk lit up Cagney’s face again in exasperated fondness. The leaf trickled down your spine again, and more cushions suddenly crowded your form as he readjusted for the last time. Snow flicked against the house in rhythm with the wind, and sang a gentle lullaby as you basked in the glow of the flower. One last kiss was pressed to your lips, and then Cagney curled into your chest.

“If my honey insists,” he chuckled into your shoulder, and that’s how morning found you the next day.


End file.
